Mission + Money = Magic

Dear FFF,

One of my biggest fans (Hi Mom!) recently commented that my braided work/life journey sounds hard—that all I seem to write about are tough parenting moments (Skyler’s Risky Business party, Sasha’s full-body meltdowns every time I left for a trip, toddler Levi’s broken femur, etc.) and business screw-ups galore.

She, in contrast, insists that her own work-and-motherhood juggle was a breeze. After all, she had four kids in three and a half years. (Let that sink in.) In her memory, we were perfectly synchronized angels—same nap schedule, constant playmates, cooperative cherubs under the wise supervision of our saintly sitter, Mrs. Panitch. When we moved from New Jersey to Texas, Mom just took us to the office when we were sick. Easy peasy!

All working parents need a Mrs. Panitch.

Personally, I think Mom’s memory is fuzzy at best. Glenn cried nonstop as a baby (Mom: Here, Mrs. Panitch, you take him!). I still have scars from an ill-fated encounter with a tree. Russell and I both stepped on rusty nails and scored matching tetanus shots. On my watch, Bruce spilled boiling soup on his leg, and I made things worse by dunking him in the pool. (I was ten! There was no YouTube tutorial for that!)

Still, her point still lands: my parenting + business journey was mostly delightful, a zillion points of beauty and chaos mushed together.

The early years were pure joy: both Alta Planning + Design and Skyler were babies, and everything felt fresh, idealistic, possible. My first partner, Michael, tossed me some meaty projects—a California county bike plan, the federal Rails-with-Trails: Lessons Learned study—and I hustled up others myself. I started teaching at Portland State University and co-founded the Initiative for Bicycle & Pedestrian Innovation, hired staff, joined peer groups, and networked my heart out. The stakes were low, the learning high, and damn, I loved it.

Not the reports or invoices—the impact. New bikeways. Safer crossings. Happier neighborhoods. Thousands more people on two feet or wheels. And yes, the money helped (breadwinner here), along with sharing the wealth with bonuses and raises and great benefits, celebrating staff babies and first houses, and waking up every day with purpose and gratitude.

Mission + money.
Money + mission.
Two sides of the same coin.

That combo got me through the tough stuff—sorry, Mom, we’re circling back to challenges—like this one tiny Joyride-tour moment.

50 cities in, I was in Boise, slumped on yet another hotel bed, cities and speeches blurring like an overexposed film reel. Homesick. Worried about Skyler, who always got sick when I traveled. Maybe it’s time to stop, I thought. Enough already. Someone else can chase new business.

Then ping—an email from a stranger named Bari George lit up my screen:

“You’ve had a profound effect on my life here, Mia! Newport has the potential to be a supremely walkable, bikeable town... Joyride pulled it all together for me.”

This wasn’t the first time a perfectly timed message like that had appeared—sometimes an email, sometimes a handwritten note, flattering article, even an award. It kept happening just when I needed it most.

So I smiled, wrote Bari back, took ten deep breaths, stretched, and FaceTimed home. Sasha and Skyler’s faces refilled my tank; Bari’s words refueled my purpose. Then I grabbed my briefcase, shook off the self-pity, and headed out to deliver a little more joy—one more audience, one more spark.

And maybe that’s the real lesson Mom’s revisionist history teaches: it’s not that the path was easy—it never is—but memory has a funny way of editing out the chaos and keeping the light. In her story, there are no tetanus shots or boiling soup disasters, just the laughter, the teamwork, the “we made it through” of it all.

Maybe that’s how she survived four kids in three and a half years—and how I’ve survived 25 years of parenting and entrepreneurship. You do the hard stuff, clean up the messes, find your Mrs. Panitch, and one day, when the dust settles, it all looks… well, easy peasy.

~ Mia